


Mad Naked Summer

by alilactree



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:24:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alilactree/pseuds/alilactree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer of sexual experimentation</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kurt decides it needs a name. Blaine would have really preferred just getting to it instead of talking and planning and coming up with an appropriate moniker. But Blaine has learned by now that Kurt is a schemer, always plotting, though he usually lets Blaine in on his master plan just moments before he launches an out-of-nowhere blitzkrieg at him. If he’s lucky. Blaine supposes he should just be thankful Kurt’s letting him have a say this time instead of just springing it on him. So to speak.

 

"The Summer Of Sexual Experimentation!" Kurt announces, complete with a hand flourish and sing-songing declaration

"A bit on the nose, don’t you think?" Blaine wonders, eyeing the yellow legal pad and sleek silver fountain pen that Kurt has been twirling between nimble fingers since calling this meeting. Blaine feels a bit like he’s going for a job interview, only instead of if you were a color, what color would you be? he’s working on finding an answer to Kurt’s jarring opening of what fantasies have you not told me about?

 

And not that he doesn’t have fantasies, he does, boy does he, but he’d expected that he’d be whispering them into Kurt’s ear as they pressed skin to skin and let themselves go in ways they haven’t dared to. Haven’t had the time or extended privacy to. But that’s part of it, also. They’re going to be together for the long haul, why not just let new desires and fantasies come up organically?

Kurt gusts out a breath and his shoulders slump. “Fine, you think of something.”

"Um, Summer Of Love?"

"Blaine, please. Be serious." Kurt twirls the pen around and around and through and Blaine tracks the motion of his long, pale fingers; trance-like.

"Ok. Summer Of Loving."

Kurt regards him coolly for a long moment, head tilted and eyes narrowed, the pen still spinning and throwing tiny glints of light onto the kitchen table when it catches a flash of the sunbeam coming through the parted curtains in the window. ”I honestly can’t decide if you’re being intentionally obtuse or you’re just that bad at this.”

Blaine pouts his lip out, though he’s really not quite sure himself. He’s having a little trouble concentrating. “I don’t know Kurt, I feel kind of put on the spot here. I thought we were going to fill out job applications, or- or even college ones for the spring semester, or even maybe look at apartments in New York so you can go anyway-“

Kurt frowns and gently sets the pen down, sliding the legal pad back over to tuck it under his folded arms. Blaine feels sick to his stomach when he realizes that Kurt’s rapid blinking means he’s fighting back tears, and the upward tip of his chin means he’s pushing back against anger. 

"Shit. Kurt, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-"

"No. You’re right. I probably should be doing that. I just-" Blaine reaches across the expanse of the table top (far, too far) to clasp his hands tight, and feels like he can finally breathe again when Kurt squeezes back and offers a small smile. "I’ve spent this whole year worrying about a future that never existed in the first place and never will, so I guess I just thought-" he swallows, looks up at Blaine, "I wanted to focus on the present for a little while. Focus on you. On us."

And, god, Blaine is helpless against the vulnerable look on Kurt’s face, helpless against this boy, he’d walk through fire for Kurt, of course he’ll consent to any kind of wicked sexual bucket list Kurt comes up with, of course he will. Blaine tries to say this, but is reduced to hoping Kurt gets all that from the crack in his voice when he says Kurt’s name, the way he clings tight to Kurt’s hands across the table like Kurt is his anchor in a stormy sea. Which, really.

Kurt heaves a breath in and out, then picks up the pen again and sets it in between his front teeth thoughtfully. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the quiet hush of the kitchen; a gentle breeze tosses the bright green leaves of the trees outside, blooming vibrantly in full summer lushness. Blaine grins suddenly and plucks the pen from Kurt’s mouth, the very end just a bit moist, and Blaine files that thought away for another time, and he reaches over to scratch onto the topmost corner of the notebook;

Press close bare-bosom’d night — press close magnetic nourishing night!Night of south winds — night of the large few stars!Still nodding night — mad naked summer night.

 

He underlines mad naked summer with heavy lines and Kurt’s face breaks into a wide grin. The one that most people rarely get to see. The one that makes something giddy and wild bubble up in Blaine’s chest every time. 

"Whitman, hmm? I approve. Maybe you aren’t so bad at this after all." 

Blaine shrugs and traces the grain of the table with a finger. “I may have gone through a poetry phase, which may or may not have ended with me writing terrible poems that will never, ever see the light of day.”

Kurt twists his lips and smiles in a way that Blaine knows means we’ll see about that, and he drops his head into his hands with a groan. Kurt chuckles and takes the pen back, writing the new title of their summer plan across the top of a fresh sheet of paper. 

"Ok, I’ll go first, if you’d like…" Kurt looks up again through his eyelashes, suddenly shy, and Blaine wonders how long it took Kurt to plan and rehearse and work up the nerve to propose this whole thing. Kurt has come a very, very long way from the blushing innocent he was that awkward afternoon in his room. And though Blaine has wished, many times over, that he had been slightly less of an enormous jackass back then, he still thinks it was the right thing to do. Kurt needs to be gently nudged in the right direction from time to time (unlike Blaine who needs giant blinking neon signs to guide the way, apparently) but once he’s settled on a path, well - Kurt Hummel does not do things by halves.

 

As Kurt scrawls out item number one on their sexy summer list, Blaine already feels the familiar flush of heat and the low thrum of arousal in his groin. He should just do what Kurt says always, forever, and never question him ever again. This is going to be the best summer ever.


	2. Chapter 2

"This is much creepier than I’d anticipated."

Blaine tries for a gentle chuckle as Kurt stares anxiously out of the passenger side window, but it comes out more like a high giggle. It is creepy. Kurt had researched and found a remote section of Grand Lake, away from any campsites or public beaches or ranger stations. It had seemed rather inspired at the time, Kurt breathlessly tilting the screen of his laptop and pointing out the spot (no one around for miles, Blaine. Think about it.)

It even looked kind of suggestive, a long thin inlet curving down from the main lake, surrounded by a thick forest. Kurt had rolled his eyes, but Blaine would maintain for the rest of the afternoon that it was the very thing that had drawn Kurt’s eye in the first place. Kurt pinning him to the bed and kissing him just to shut him up when Blaine had started to list other phallic landmarks they could visit (The Sunsphere in Knoxville, The Washington Monument, Florida) hadn’t changed his mind any.

"I’m pretty sure I saw a horror movie that started this way," Blaine says, pulling off the narrow backcountry highway with its acres and acres of flat fields and the occasional lonely farmhouse. He doesn’t even know if he’d call this part a road, just sparse gravel over a winding stretch of dirt, vast clouds of dust pluming into the air behind them. 

"I will never understand why you watch those things," Kurt says, then points to where the line of trees thins a bit and Blaine can navigate his car off the road and into the woods a little. 

"So I can be prepared in case there’s a homicidal clown or psychotic leprechaun hiding behind a tree." Kurt just gives him a dubious look and pushes open the car door, grabbing two beach towels from the backseat. "Too bad we aren’t virgins anymore. They always survive," Blaine continues, as he falls into step with Kurt at the edge of a thicket of trees. 

Blaine manages to get a smile out of him with that and Kurt reaches over to tangle their fingers together. “Mmmm, a pity. And on that note - shall we?”

Blaine swallows and squeezes Kurt’s hand. It’s just past sunset, the sky a deep, rich blue with the moon starting to glow serenely above the treetops. It’s considerably darker in the forest, and despite Blaine’s jokes about ludicrous horror movie villains he can’t seem to stop his heart from pounding a bit and his head from whipping around at every shuffle in the underbrush and distant animal call cutting through the quiet night. Maybe he should ease up on the movies for awhile. 

Kurt steps on a twig and the cracking snap makes Blaine startle and jump. He scoffs a laugh at himself, but Kurt gives him a tender look through the muted light and pulls him closer, cinching his arm tight around Blaine’s back. It makes for an awkward ramble through the uneven terrain of the forest floor, hauling themselves arm-in-arm over fallen logs and stumbling on sunken-in ditches and the bumps of tiny hills. Finally they make it to a sandy shore, the forest continuing up and around on both sides like a private little cove, and Kurt was right; it’s perfect.

"How did you find this?" Blaine wonders, sticking the very tip of his shoe into the shallows of the lake gently lapping up against the shore. Kurt shrugs, but looks rather smug about it all, and sits down to start unlacing his boots. "Wow, so we’re getting right to it then." 

Kurt slips off his socks, then wiggles his toes into the wet sand at the edge of the water. “It’s why we’re here right?” He tests the water a bit, hissing through his teeth. It must be cold. “Besides,” he says, standing back up and starting to work his fingers down the buttons on his shirt, “the faster we do this the less likely we are to have a most unfortunate run-in with an axe murderer.”

Blaine toes off his Top-Siders, the sand cool and soft on his bare feet. “Ok, but you should know that getting naked exponentially increases our chances of being gruesomely chopped into tiny pieces.” He strips off his sweater-vest, says muffled from inside the fabric, “and having sex pretty much guarantees it.” 

But when his head emerges from the tight tangle of his vest he decides that any torture or slow, painful death will be well worth it because Kurt is standing in the curving edge of the glassy lake in nothing but dark briefs, illuminated by the refection of the moonlight on the water in the dim twilight; all long limbs and fair skin over sinewed muscles, the shifting tendons of his back and knobs of his spine visible where he’s bent slightly, considering the water where he’s now submerged up to his ankles. 

"It’s a little murky," Kurt muses and Blaine can’t respond, struck dumb by Kurt’s beauty. He looks otherworldly, ethereal.

”God, Kurt,” He finally manages, surging forward to slide both hands over the sides of his face and crush their mouths together. Kurt gives a squeak of surprise, but recovers quickly, settling his hands low on Blaine’s hipbones and parting his lips. 

Kurt pulls away with a sharp inhale through his nose and grins. “See? I have good ideas.”

"The best," Blaine murmurs and chases Kurt’s mouth. Kurt laughs and pulls farther away, nodding down to where the very bottom of Blaine’s pants are hovering just above the water. "Cropped," Blaine points out helpfully.

"Yes, well done. Now take them off. We have plans." 

He manages only a glimpse of Kurt’s fully naked form as he shimmies out of his shirt and pants and sets them in a folded pile on top of the towels, next to Kurt’s stack of clothing. He kicks himself for getting so distracted and missing Kurt’s descent into the water, and as he hooks his thumbs into the elastic waistband of his boxer-briefs he tells Kurt this.

Kurt hums, waist deep and skimming his hands along the surface, sending ripples out from his body. “Maybe that was my plan all along. Now I get a show.”

Blaine fidgets a bit on the sandy shore while Kurt’s eyes travel the length of his body, down and back up again. “Is it cold?” Blaine asks.

"A little."

"Can we just-" He snaps the elastic against his skin, looks down at the sand. "Can we state for the record that there’s going to be an element of shrinkage at play here?"

Kurt barks out a laugh, echoing around the lake and then dulled by the thick of the trees. “You act like I’ve never seen you naked before. Besides,” He gestures down to himself where he’s hidden under the water, “If yours shrinks then mine probably is, too.”

"Yeah but you have a lot more to work with."

"Blaine, you’re being ridiculous. First of all I don’t care, and second of all that’s not even true. You are perfectly adequate."

Blaine sets his hands on his hips sharply. “Oh gosh Kurt, stop. My ego will inflate to epic proportions with all this talk of my adequacy.” 

Kurt laughs brightly and pushes a hand through the water, sending a rippling wave in Blaine’s direction. “Just get in already.” He lifts his dripping hand and drags it slowly down his chest, across his nipples and then slips it down his stomach and into the dark of the water. “Or do I have to start without you?”

Blaine scrambles out of his underwear, not even caring that he leaves them in the sand after kicking them off his foot impatiently. The water is chilly but not awful, goosebumps breaking out over his arms a little and the muscles in his stomach twitching as they’re submerged; until he adjusts to the temperature change. But then Kurt is there, solid and warmer than the cool water, reeling Blaine in immediately.

Blaine’s hands take the same path Kurt’s had moments before, so much skin on display, almost luminescent in the soft glow of the evening. There’s a rush from being in public, naked and brash and free, like they’re creatures of the forest. Kurt tilts his head up and back and Blaine sucks kisses along the taut skin of his throat, gently at first, then open mouthed and biting up and across and down.

"What sort of creatures do you suppose there are in this lake?" Kurt says, then bites out a stuttered moan.

"Hmmm," Blaine says into his neck, "Giant squid. Sharks. Loch Nes Monster." He moves to mouth along Kurt’s jaw and Kurt’s arms come up to cling tight around his shoulders, bringing their chests and hips closer together. "Eels."

Kurt pulls back to look at him, and even in the increasing darkness Blaine can tell it’s a glare. “Please tell me that wasn’t a dick joke.”

Blaine wiggles his eyebrows a bit, one after the other. Kurt lifts his eyes to the sky and shakes his head a fraction. “Okay…tonight is your lucky night because I’m going to go ahead and pretend that you didn’t actually just say that.”

"It is my lucky night," Blaine says, bringing his hands back up to run them wetly along Kurt’s chest and over his broad shoulders, "you look amazing right now."

Kurt sighs happily. “You aren’t so bad yourself,” he replies, chasing a drop of water with his finger that’s trailing down from Blaine’s sternum and into the dark line of hair on his belly under the surface of the lake. For a while the only sounds around are the quiet splashes when one of them shifts or drops a hand, the rustling of leaves in the occasional breeze and the steady lapping of the waves on the shore.

It’s better than Blaine had expected, skinny dipping had always seemed like some silly thing you would do on a dare or for a hazing ritual to join a frat. Juvenile. But this, with the full moon and the stars now scattered across the sky and the stately rise of the trees all around them, Kurt with all of his skinand his parted mouth and his eyes gone dark in the night. It’s romantic and exciting and erotic. Kurt really does have the best ideas.

"So is it all you’d hoped it would be?" Blaine asks, and Kurt kisses him sweet and soft and lingering.

"Yes and no," he says, pulling away just a little. "It’s absolutely wonderful and romantic, but I was hoping for a little more than that…" he looks down into the water again, a little forlorn. "Cold water isn’t exactly the best aphrodisiac. And something keeps touching my ankle, and it’s actually really terrifying but I’m just trying to pretend like it isn’t."

It’s probably just a fish, but Blaine sweeps his foot over Kurt’s ankles under the water to chase whatever it is away, just in case. 

"My hero," Kurt says softly, brushing his wet thumb across Blaine’s temple. "Let’s go back to the shore."

They dry off and Kurt lays the towels down on the sand, then himself, and as Blaine watches him he feels uninhibited and wild with the warm summer breeze licking across his bare body, and when he stretches over Kurt and inhales the dank scent of the lake in his skin, the earthy taste of it on his tongue, he feels like they’ve merged themselves with the natural world. With each other. 

Suddenly he needs to feel Kurt everywhere, and he pulls Kurt’s thigh up over his hip, his cock slotting itself where Kurt is hottest and willing and shifting himself up and down against him. 

Kurt arches and groans and flings an arm out to grab at his shorts, scrabbling through the pockets until he comes up with a small packet of lube and a condom.

"You should be a boy scout," Blaine quips, tearing the packet open and squeezing some onto his fingers.

"I really don’t think they give badges out for sexual preparedness, Blaine. Oh-" Kurt throws his head back as Blaine begins to open him, slowly at first and then harder, more insistent, crooking his fingers to make Kurt writhe on the towel. Kurt has sand covering his arm and drops of lake water still on his chest, slight shadows from the fluttering leaves playing across his moonlit skin, and Blaine has never found him to be more stunning than he is in this moment.

Blaine’s knees dig into the earth and his hands grip around soft soil and shift and slip next to Kurt’s head as he thrusts, Kurt wound all around him and rocking back to meet every push in. Their mouths relentless against each other, open and biting and licking, catching their moans and gasps.

Kurt pulls away to stroke himself between their over-heated bodies and the breeze picks up, carrying his gasps and moans away with the blowing wind. And when Kurt spills onto their bellies and clenches down around him, they let their cries go into the trees, over the lake, and up into the wide open sky.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s raining hard enough that Blaine has to leap over a puddle stretching across the entirety of the walkway leading to Kurt’s front door and then press himself up against the side of the house after ringing the bell, the wind gusting suddenly and sending sprays of water up under the porch awning and soaking into the back of his shirt. 

Kurt answers and hustles him inside, tutting about the danger of driving over in a storm, that his Dad and Carole decided to wait it out at the mall and how Finn called to say he needed to put in extra time at the gym anyway.

“Empty house then?” Blaine says with a lift of his eyebrows, and Kurt doesn’t reply, just unbuttons Blaine’s rain-soaked shirt, focusing on each button as he goes, cheeks slightly pink. 

The storm is the type that starts brewing hours before it actually begins, the clouds gradually growing dark and heavy and ominous in the sky, until finally the sun hides weakly behind them, the air sweeping and pushing and barreling along like a warning: it’s coming, get ready. And just before the storm cracks open the sky everything feels charged with kinetic energy; even the grass on the ground trembles in anticipation.

To Blaine it feels no different, now, safe inside Kurt’s house. Kurt passes a fleeting finger tip over the skin newly revealed; the air-conditioning clicks on and rattles in the vents, and Blaine shivers. 

Kurt clucks his tongue. “I’ll dry this for you. Honestly Blaine, you’ll catch pneumonia and there isn’t any exiting celebrity news for me to read you from your bedside and everything is in reruns right now so we’d both have to suffer for it.”

“Can’t catch pneumonia from the rain, Kurt. Besides, you forgot about The Bachelorette being new.”

Kurt tips his head to the side. “This is true.”

“You’d stay diligently at my bedside anyway.”

“Also true,” Kurt smiles.

Blaine catches Kurt’s hands where he’s gripping the damp shirt tightly, scrunches his nose and says, “I think you just wanted an excuse to get my shirt off.”

Kurt gasps, mock-scandalized. “I’m not the one who was traipsing about in the rain. Maybe you just wanted an excuse to take your shirt off.”

“Maybe so,” Blaine agrees, then ducks his head to look up at Kurt. “So… what do I have to do to get yours off?”

The blush returns to Kurt’s cheeks even as he rolls his eyes, and as he turns away with a put-upon sigh to get Blaine’s shirt in the dryer down the hall in the laundry room, Blaine darts a hand out to grab at his ass.

Kurt squawks and spins around to whip the shirt at him and orders Blaine to behave and go upstairs. Blaine winks as Kurt laughs, the air crackling with charged energy again as Blaine takes the stairs two at a time and opens Kurt’s bedroom to door to find a red cashmere scarf folded in a gentle loop on Kurt’s bed.

He’s running the soft fabric through his fingers when Kurt enters, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. 

“This looks expensive,” Blaine muses. It feels expensive. “We don’t have to use one of your nice scarves.”

Kurt presses his back against the door and tucks his hands behind him. “eBay. And I just thought… That it would feel-” Kurt thunks his head back on the wood panelling and takes a slow breath; says to the ceiling, “I like the way cashmere feels, I thought it would be more comfortable.”

“Oh you wanted- Okay, yeah that’s fine. We can do it that way instead.” Blaine winds the scarf around and around his hand, he’d been thinking about being blindfolded for awhile, one of those things that he wanted to bring up but never could find the right way to say. He had figured he’d just blurt it out inappropriately one of these days. It was bound to happen eventually. But Kurt had passed him the sleek silver pen and he’d written it down before he had a chance to talk himself out of it. 

He loves looking at Kurt during sex. Loves it. He could look at Kurt naked every second of every day for the rest of his life and it still wouldn’t be enough, but there is something so alluring about needing to rely on his other senses; Kurt’s breathy gasps, the heady scent of him when Blaine tucks his face into the crease of a thigh, the flavors of Kurt’s body, salty and bitter and sweet all at once.

And, of course, touch. Blaine is a very tactile person, after all.

But what was true when they first started on this journey is just as true now. He’ll do whatever Kurt is comfortable with. He will gladly follow Kurt on whatever magnificent odyssey he chooses to take them on, because when Kurt is happy, he is happiest. 

“You want to?” Kurt asks, settling on the bed next to him and gently unwinding the scarf from around Blaine’s hand. 

Kurt licks his lips and his eyes grow darker, like clouds anticipating the rain, and Blaine nods jerkily. 

“Okay,” Kurt whispers, then shifts up to his knees and shuffles behind Blaine, leaning heavily against his back as he brings the scarf over Blaine’s head. “Just. Tell me if if it’s too tight or you don’t like it or…” He trails off as the soft fabric slips over Blaine’s closed eyes. A rumble of thunder rattles against the window and the air snaps with a burst of lightning across the sky. “Tell me what you want,” Kurt says, his voice just a gentle play of breath over Blaine’s ear.

“I want to touch you.”

After everything goes dark Blaine focuses on the quiet movement around him as Kurt shifts on the bed, the mattress dipping and bouncing. He hears the soft rustle of fabric, and his heart picks up speed at the sound of a zipper being lowered. There’s a stilled pause, as if Kurt is debating something internally, then Blaine feels wide palms pressing him up higher on the bed, Kurt’s fingers sliding deftly under the waistband of his pants, and Blaine helps him by leaning back and lifting his hips as Kurt slips his pants and underwear off. 

Despite not being able to see the proof, or maybe because of that, Blaine feels more naked somehow. Stripped bare down to not just his naked skin, but to muscles and nerves and rushing blood, twitching and buzzing with raw vulnerability. 

Kurt’s sure hands come down over his waist, pressing and holding, and Blaine realizes he’d been trembling. 

“You still want to do this?” Kurt asks, moving his hands up to cradle Blaine’s jaw, then brushes his thumbs over the fabric covering his eyes. 

But Blaine doesn’t want to talk, so instead he captures Kurt by the wrists and pulls him to his chest, Kurt flailing a bit and falling heavily on him. They tumble over and to their sides together, Kurt chuckling at their lack of coordination. 

Blaine blindly kisses whatever part of Kurt is closest (his hair, it smells like shampoo and hairspray), then pushes Kurt down flat on his back with a palm to his chest (tiny nub of a nipple just under his pinky.) 

He starts at Kurt’s head; thick, silky hair, a chunk fallen loose from it’s usual hold. Blaine sweeps it back from his forehead. Moves his fingertips across one arching eyebrow to the other, then featherlight over his eyelashes. Kurt blinks slowly, like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. 

One finger down the slope of his nose, and he makes an overdramatic swoop at the upturned end. Kurt laughs softly, the warmth of it puffing humid against the skin of Blaine’s palm. 

He slides the pad of his thumb over the lushness of Kurt’s bottom lip, smoothing it across and back, then dipping in slightly where it’s warm and wet, and next to his chest where they’re pressed together Kurt hitches in a sharp breath. 

Then over the twin curves on his top lip, and Blaine’s thumb presses spit-slick into the tiny divot above and leaves it there for a moment, something secret and special about that spot, a place no one would think to touch and cherish, save for a mother. Or a lover.

That’s not his favorite spot, though. Blaine fumbles down and walks his fingers over Kurt’s chin, until he finds the cleft there, then moves both hands up, over his soft cheeks and whispers, I love you so much, just so Kurt will smile like Blaine knows he will, like he always does, and the dimples bloom against his fingertips. 

He traces the line of Kurt’s jaw, just the smallest hint of stubble scratching rough, then down the stretched tendon of his long, long neck, over the jut of a collarbone and swirls two fingers into the hollow of his throat. Up again to feel the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows and sighs. 

Down his arm, over a bicep, then Kurt flexes and Blaine grins. A softer touch on the skin pulled thin and delicate over the crook of his elbow. Down farther to his wrist with the bumps of tangled veins underneath and he can feel Kurt’s blood pulsing through them steady and rabbit-quick. 

Up again and his hand spreads and flattens over the patterned bones on Kurt’s chest, a steadily beating cadence of lungs and heart, and Blaine’s fingers twitch to grip, like he could hold the living rhythm of it in his cupped hand, like he could cradle Kurt’s heart and keep it safe. Like Kurt is holding his.

Kurt starts to get impatient, then, Blaine can feel his hips wiggling restlessly against the bed, then turning so they’re rubbing hard and hot and needy together. Blaine moans but shoots his hand down to still him, holding tight to his hips and squeezes once, hopes Kurt gets the message; not yet.

Kurt’s chest heaves with a sigh as he settles back against the bed. From far away thunder grumbles and light flashes sudden into the darkness covering Blaine’s eyes. The storm is passing. 

Blaine’s touch becomes quicker, harder, feverish; he finds the peak of a nipple and rubs his thumb and index finger over and over, and then does the same to the one across the expanse of Kurt’s chest. 

He moves and clumsily settles between Kurt’s thighs, Kurt’s own hands coming up to guide him, so he can slide both palms heavily down Kurt’s sturdy sides, the concave turn of his belly, his protruding hipbones; then curves under to grip tightly to the firm rounded flesh there as Kurt tilts his hips up.

Smooths under strong thighs then up over knobby knees. He leans back and almost falls as he twists to feel all the way down Kurt’s long, long legs, fuzzy with coarse hair; the knot of his calves, the bump of an anklebone and brackets his hands in a circle around one. Kurt groans out his name and again pitches his restless hips.

Blaine hesitates, sucks his lips into his mouth, then skates his hand down to tickle under the arch of Kurt’s foot.

Kurt shrieks and kicks at him and Blaine suddenly finds himself being tackled down to the bed, pinned under Kurt’s torso laughing as Kurt huffs, “Just kiss me already you jerk.”

Kissing without seeing is nothing new. Blaine did try once to watch the rapid movement of Kurt’s eyelids when they were kissing not too long after they’d started dating. He decided the view, though lovely, wasn’t quite worth going permanently cross-eyed. But there is still something exciting about not being able to see even if he did open his eyes, so he focuses on the press and slip of Kurt’s lips, the pressure of his tongue sliding and thrusting along Blaine’s, the suction pulling his lips in between Kurt’s.

Finally he moves a hand down Kurt’s stomach, past the line of hair there, growing thicker and more wiry as he goes. Kurt’s breath punches out of his lungs as Blaine feels out the velvety smooth skin over the swollen head, swipes his thumb over the moisture beading in the slit. Kurt groans when he traces around and around the ridge underneath, whimpers when he slides a finger along the thick vein on the underside of the shaft, and when he wraps his hand fully around the frenzied heat of Kurt’s cock, Kurt chokes out a string of curses.

Kurt’s hand comes down to fist roughly at Blaine’s cock; too fast, too dry, but Kurt has reached the end of his patience and Blaine isn’t far behind. He is deprived of his vision, held off from Kurt’s touch for far too long so that it licks like fire in his blood and through his veins.

The push-pull of their hands and mouths and tongues and Kurt comes with a rush of heat onto Blaine’s belly and hip and hand, sending his own orgasm in a burst across his skin, every nerve humming, and then bright, too bright and he squeezes his eyes closed tightly.

Everything is blurry as he blinks and blinks and adjusts to the light of the room. The storm is gone, the sunlight warily peeking through the patches of clouds. He vaguely registers the gentle brush of cotton wiping over his palm and each finger, still tingly to the tips of them, then he can see blue, and flushed pink, and oh, Kurt. Kurt smiling down at him, pushing the scarf off his head and away. 

Kurt pecks his lips softly, says, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Blaine’s voice comes out in croak and he clears his throat. Kurt settles his head on Blaine’s chest.

“That was like the best kind of torture.” 

“But good right?” Blaine has to ask.

“Yes. Of course, yes.” Kurt lifts his head to give him a soft look, and then it swiftly changes and his eyes turn laser-sharp. “Although I distinctly remember outlawing any and all tickling.”

“I don’t remember that,” Blaine says, averting his eyes. Maybe he should re-blindfold himself to hide from Kurt’s wrath.

Kurt mmhmms skeptically. Blaine brings his hands up again to hold them over the sharp angles of Kurt’s jaw and cheeks and again whispers “I love you.”

But this time he gets to watch as Kurt’s smile beams like the light pushing back the black clouds. He presses both thumbs into the tiny indentations there and under his hands Kurt feels warm and bright and golden as the sun.


	4. Chapter 4

Through me forbidden voices,

Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil’d and I remove the veil

Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur’d.

\--Song Of Myself, Walt Whitman

"Right. Okay. I. You. It. Um."

Blaine grins, he can’t help it, Kurt is just so adorable when he’s flustered. He gets a swat to his bended knee for it. 

Kurt tries again. “I. Uh. Want.” His cheeks turn pink and he pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth and Blaine just wants to grab his face and smother him in kisses, he is just so cute. He sits patiently, though, trying really, really hard to hold back a smile as Kurt stammers, sitting cross-legged on Blaine’s bed directly in front of him, their knees touching. Kurt wanted to do this, he put it on the list, so Blaine waits.

Kurt leans back on his arms and huffs out a frustrated breath that ruffles the front of his hair. “I suck at this.”

"Oh you suck all right," Blaine replies, lowering his voice dramatically.

"No," Kurt says with a roll of his eyes.

"Just thought I’d get the ball rolling." Blaine waggles his eyebrows. "Or balls."

"Wow." Kurt sits up again and clasps his hands together in his lap. "Nope, this was a bad idea. Let’s just fool around for awhile and forget this ever happened." Kurt leans in for a kiss and as much as Blaine knows he would enjoy doing just that, and hates to deny Kurt anything, he catches him by the arms and moves his head back to look into Kurt’s eyes.

"Hey." Kurt sighs, but doesn’t move away, so Blaine barrels on. "We don’t have to, okay? Whatever you want. But you put it on the list for a reason, so can we at least talk about it?"

"Not being able to talk is kind of the whole problem." Kurt looks away as he says it, fingers fiddling with the bunched inseam of the fabric over the inside curve of Blaine’s knee. 

Blaine cups his chin and tilts it up so Kurt will meet his eyes again. “What do you mean?” He asks softly, not quite following. They always talk, it’s what they do-well, most of the time. It’s part of what makes them so great together. 

Kurt swallows, sighs. “When we’re…you know…”

"Having sex?" Blaine supplies.

Kurt lets out a humorless laugh. “Yes. That. You’re so vocal. And it’s so amazing and-” He looks down again, twisting the fabric of Blaine’s jeans between his fingers. “It’s sexy.” He mumbles. He chances a look at Blaine, just the quickest flash of stormy blue. “I wish I could do that for you. I try but I just feel so stupid and then I can’t and I get so flustered and I just want to be everything for you, Blaine, give you everything, but I’m not that guy, that suave, smooth, hot guy who can just-“

"Hey, hey, hey." Blaine slides his hands over to grasp Kurt by the shoulders, grounding him, steadying him, stemming the flow of panic. "You do give me everything. And more." Kurt shakes his head. "Hey, no. You do. You are everything, Kurt. And if you can’t talk to me like a porn star, that is completely fine with me. Really.”

Kurt smiles softly. “Okay, then.” Blaine leans in to give him a loud, overly enthusiastic kiss square on the mouth and Kurt grins widely against his lips.

"Now. I do believe you said something about fooling around." Blaine toys with the buttons on Kurt’s shirt. "And there was some talk about how sexy I am?" He slips the buttons open, revealing Kurt’s tight white undershirt, looks at him under lowered eyelids. "Please feel free to show me just how incredibly irresistible you find me.”

Kurt tips up his chin, but he’s smiling as he does. “I don’t remember saying anything about irresistible. More like irritating.” Blaine hums and moves up to his knees to slide Kurt’s shirt off and away and smooths his palms over the expanse of his shoulders and down his chest. Kurt’s eyes flutter closed.

"I beg to differ," Blaine replies, voice now taking on a naturally husky tone as he reaches to palm the growing bulge in Kurt’s lap. Kurt sucks in a quick breath.

"See? Like that." Kurt looks up at him, eyes wide and pupils dark. "How do you just-" he waves a hand vaguely. "Just say stuff and not feel like an idiot?"

Blaine shrugs. “Who says I don’t feel like an idiot? I just do it anyway.” He pulls Kurt’s undershirt over his head and ducks down to place a kiss right on the corner of Kurt’s jaw.

"That is the story of your life, Blaine Anderson." 

Just for that Blaine nips at his earlobe and Kurt squeaks a little. “Mean,” he mumbles against Kurt’s neck, bracing his hands on Kurt’s shoulders and shuffling forward to straddle his lap and slide his mouth down to suck just under Kurt’s chin. He spends his time thoroughly mouthing along Kurt’s neck and over both collarbones, Kurt’s breath growing louder and harsher, with the occasional stifled moan vibrating in his throat.

"I researched it, you know. " Kurt says, then gasps as Blaine starts to grind his ass a little in Kurt’s lap.

"Did you?" 

"Mmmm. Though the internet was less than -ah. Less than helpful.” Kurt’s hands come up to slip under Blaine’s polo, pushing it up impatiently until Blaine is forced to lift his head and pull it off. Kurt watches his own hands as they run up and down Blaine’s sides. “Cosmo was a veritable goldmine of horrendous advice.”

"Naturally," Blaine says as Kurt trails a finger up Blaine’s arm and over his shoulder, then down to circle around a nipple. "Feels so good, Kurt."

"I also may have heisted one of Carole’s romance novels." Kurt bites his lip shyly again, a smile tipping up the corners of his mouth.

"So you mean - oh fuck yes, like that.” Kurt replaces his finger with his mouth, licking around and over the hardened peak. “Like heaving bosoms and throbbing members?” 

Kurt chuckles against his chest, the soft vibrations tickling against his skin. “Something like that. There were cowboys involved.” Kurt’s leans forward to grab onto Blaine’s belt and tug it loose, forcing Blaine up on his knees again, hovering over Kurt’s lap until his button and zipper are open and his pants are hanging loose and low on his hips. Kurt’s hands spread over the curve of Blaine’s hipbones and he looks up at him darkly as he pulls Blaine back down to his lap, then pushes up him again, and says, “Ryder.” 

"Sorry?" 

"That was the cowboy’s name." Pulls down. Pushes up. "Ryder." 

"Of course it was." And Blaine knows exactly what Kurt wants. What he’s saying without saying it, watching the rise and fall of Blaine’s still covered hips and thighs, barely even making contact between them. He could just do it. Just push Kurt down and give him exactly what he wants. But he doesn’t. Because Kurt looks nervous and hesitant and he knows how much Kurt pushes himself, never one to back down from a challenge, never one to give up. Kurt is so brave. Kurt makes him brave.

"Tell me," Blaine says softly, purposefully grinding his ass down harder against the length of Kurt’s cock trapped inside of his pants. Kurt sucks in a breath and his hands clench at Blaine’s hips, thumbs digging into the skin just above the waistband of his briefs, swallows, then looks right into Blaine’s eyes and says with a crooked smile,

"Ride ‘em cowboy."

He’s expecting Blaine to laugh, he can tell, waiting for Blaine to say that he’s silly, or ridiculous. He doesn’t. Instead he scrambles off Kurt’s lap and hastily shoves his pants and underwear off, then crosses the room to retrieve a bottle of lube and a condom from the back of his sock drawer. 

“Tell me. Please, Kurt.” 

Kurt fixes his gaze on a random spot over Blaine’s head as he clamors back onto the bed, blushes red, opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut abruptly. Blaine waits. He’s not trying to push, well he is a little, but not for him. For Kurt. Because he can tell how badly Kurt wants to do this. Wants to push himself out of his comfort zone even more than he already has. 

He ducks down and kisses Kurt gently, lingering. Kurt breathes slowly through his nose, looks away, then swallows and whispers to the space above Blaine’s head, “Ride me.”

And it’s not even remotely silly or ridiculous. It’s hot. Kurt looks as bewildered as he always does when Blaine tells him that, and Blaine wonders how many times he has to say it before Kurt starts to believe him.

"Maybe one more time," Kurt says, as he shimmies out of his pants and briefs and lays himself back against a pile of pillows, and Blaine straddles his lap once more.

"So. Fucking. Hot." Blaine says, kissing him roughly and bracing both hands on either side of Kurt’s head. He hears the snap of the lube being opened, slides his tongue into Kurt’s mouth as Kurt reaches around and starts to stretch him, his heavy cock brushing along Kurt’s abdomen as he rocks his hips against Kurt’s fingers; until he can’t stand waiting any longer, feels desperate to have Kurt inside of him, under him, all over him. "Need you. Need you now," he moans into Kurt’s mouth.

Kurt pushes him up and grabs onto his hips once more as Blaine rolls on a condom, slicks up Kurt’s cock, and starts to sink down slowly. “Blaine.” 

"Yeah, Kurt. Yes. Tell me.” Blaine settles his ass against Kurt’s hipbones, adjusting to the stretch and the fullness, then pivots his hips in a slow circle as Kurt groans again. “Tell me, Kurt. How does it feel?”

"Good." Kurt says with a gust of air. "So good." Blaine raises up slowly, bracing both hands on Kurt’s chest, then sinks back down. "So…tight."

"Mmmm," Blaine encourages. Up. "Love feeling you inside me, baby." Down. "Love your cock." Up.

"Oh god," Kurt arches against the bed, thrusting up into Blaine. "Thighs," he says, falling back flat to the bed and clutching his fingers over the muscles flexing and shifting and straining as Blaine lifts up and slams down again. Up. Down. "I love your thighs."

Blaine increases the pace, pushing his muscles to their limit; faster, harder. Kurt thrashes underneath him, hips bucking up off the mattress over and over, watching as Blaine’s thighs flex and quiver. “Yeah, Kurt.”

"I- Oh god, I’m close."

"Want you to come. I want to feel it." 

"Blaine, oh." 

They work in tandem, Kurt pulling down as his hips rise off the bed, then pushing Blaine up again as he pulls back out. Blaine feels strung up and aching, muscles shaking as Kurt works him up and down on his cock, his thighs burning with the effort. He’s desperate to just reach down and jerk himself and come, he’s chasing it, needs it. But he makes himself hold off, wants to see Kurt lose control completely first. 

"Tell me," he grinds out as Kurt bounces him up hard and he cries out, feels the tightening in his groin, every nerve in his body screaming for release, he won’t, he won’t, he-

"I love- I love-" Kurt’s hands spasm on his thighs, he rockets his hips up, moving to circle his fingers around Blaine so every thrust sends Blaine’s leaking cock through his fist, "God, baby, I love fucking you. Fuck."

"Yes."

"So gorgeous. Just for me."

"Yes, yes Kurt. Only you."

"Mine," Kurt growls out, then his back arches and bows and Blaine feels Kurt spill hot inside him. He works his hips down onto the pulsing of Kurt’s cock and then up into the curl of his fist, and as just as Kurt starts to go soft and his grip slackens, Blaine shoots across Kurt’s chest, cries Kurt’s name, and stars burst over his vision. 

He collapses to the side, feels Kurt slip out of him wetly, and rolls onto his back. “Dirty Talk. Check,” he says, lifting a hand into the air weakly and making an invisible checkmark.

Kurt laughs, a little self-consciously, then turns his head on the pillow to look at Blaine; sated and disheveled and panting a little still. He’s quiet as he cleans his chest, slips the condom off and twists to throw it and the tissues in the little trash can next to the bed. “I didn’t get to use any of the very helpful information i found, though.”

Blaine turns to prop his head up on a hand, looks at Kurt wryly. “Alright, hit me.”

"Well, there was a lot of talk of ramming. And sheathing. I wasn’t quite sure how to work that in casually, however." Kurt looks up at the ceiling, waves his hand around dramatically above his head and pitches his voice up a little. "Oh ram me Blaine.”

Blaine snorts. “That sounds kind of painful.”

"Doesn’t it? Who says that? Oh, and ‘I want to feel your masculinity.’ How do you even do that?”

"What? You can’t feel my masculinity? Clearly I’m doing something wrong here."

"Clearly." Kurt shifts to his side and slowly skims a hand from Blaine’s neck, down his chest and stomach and hips then to his thighs; traces the line of muscle there. He presses his fingertips over jutting bones and muscle and veins and skin, then licks his lips and gives Blaine a heated look that has him desperately wishing his recovery time were faster. "Blaine," Kurt murmurs, sliding his hand along the line of Blaine’s jaw and moving in closer.

"Yes?" Blaine whispers, and parts his lips in anticipation. 

"I just want you to know…" 

"Yes, Kurt." Blaine swallows thickly.

"That you…" His lips brush over Blaine’s, just the softest touch. Blaine shivers and his eyes close. "That you took me on a ride of pure undiluted pleasure until I convulsed like a hurricane of violent orgasmic awakening."

Blaine’s eyes open to see Kurt shaking in silent laughter, one hand pressed over his mouth. Blaine shoves at his shoulder and Kurt flops down, arms flung out to the sides, eyes bright.

Blaine grabs his wrists and pins them over his head, kisses his laughing mouth. “So what you’re saying his that you rammed me with your masculinity…” A fresh gale of laughter. “Until you violently convulsed. With pleasure. Violent hurricane pleasure.”

"Yes, exactly," Kurt gasps out.

"So, cowboy metaphors…” Nuzzles into the hollow of his throat, and Kurt’s breath hitches. "And some disturbing imagery…" Mouths up to his chin and across his jaw. "That about it?" 

Kurt gasps and whines and twists beneath him, and Blaine wasn’t just being diplomatic. Kurt is plenty responsive without ever uttering a single word and it is more than enough. 

"No," Kurt replies, shifting his hips so Blaine can feel him starting to grow hard again. "You should fuck me now."

And Blaine is reminded again that not only is Kurt completely adorable and incredibly sexy, he’s also a very fast learner.


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine turns flat onto his stomach in a patch of sunlight on the checkered blanket, balled up napkins and empty cups and the crumbs of their picnic littered across the expanse of it. Eyes closed, cheek turned to rest on his folded arms he shifts and stretches into the summer heat; lets it soak into his skin, his bones. 

He can hear the rustle of Kurt packing up, the soft click of the wicker basket being closed. From inside the house there’s whooping and shouting; baseball, Blaine is pretty sure. He never could get into watching it on TV, there is just something about the atmosphere of seeing baseball live, an energy lacking on the flat cold screen. A soft breeze rolls across the yard, rustling the grass under Blaine’s elbows and slack palms. He sighs. Even the air is hot today.

“Let’s go in,” Kurt says, even as he lowers himself next to Blaine on his side, head propped up, other hand trailing through the blunt blades of grass. 

“Soon,” Blaine replies, content to lie there in the sultry pulse of the sun and the air and Kurt’s body. 

Kurt hums and plucks a blade of grass from the cracked soil, tickles it along Blaine’s ear and over his sweaty brow. “They’re all going out after the game. Ice cream to either celebrate or to soothe the sting of defeat.” Blaine smiles and Kurt runs the grass along his upturned lips. “House to ourselves, if you want.”

And Blaine can’t help the lurch of his stomach, the sudden pounding of his heart. He knows what’s next on the list, wonders if they should talk about it. If it’s too far, even though they’d agreed on no shaming and no going along with something one of them didn’t want. Kurt would have said, if- If.

“Is it too much? What I want to try?” 

Kurt leans over to settle his chest heavily onto Blaine’s back, skates the blade of grass across the skin exposed to the sun above his waistband and below his rucked up shirt, rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “No,” he answers, and Blaine sighs into the pause there. “Should it be?” 

“It’s a lot,” Blaine says into the crook of his elbow.

“It is,” Kurt replies.

There’s a silence that stretches too long and too tense, then a clamor from the house that interrupts it. Kurt turns down victory ice cream and Burt and Carole and Finn are too carried away in elation to think about the implications of an empty house, and then they’re gone. Kurt stands and prods at Blaine’s side with his bare toes until Blaine rolls over and squints against the sunlight. He throws an arm over his face to block it out.

“I guess I just-” He rises up to his knees and Kurt looks down at him patiently. “It’s not that I want you use me, not really.” 

Kurt holds out his hand. “You want me to take care of you.”

He pulls Blaine up, smiles softly as Blaine relaxes into his arms. Kurt’s skin is dewy and sun-warmed against Blaine’s, his hands pressed wide and solid against the shirt clinging to Blaine’s back. Under their feet the grass shifts and shivers and tickles softly.

“Yes,” He whispers.

Kurt’s eyes are wide like they tend to be when he gets nervous, the tip of his tongue darting out every so often as they reach Kurt’s room and shift from foot-to-foot together like some kind of awkward ritual mating dance. 

Blaine is the first to break, chuckling quietly, then reaching for Kurt’s hands so he can place a kiss across the knuckles of one, then the other. Kurt takes a fortifying breath, straightens his back and squeezes Blaine’s fingers. “Can you, um. Get undressed? Lay on the bed?”

“You don’t have to ask, Kurt. That’s sort of the whole point.” But he goes to work on his clothes anyway, Kurt needs to work up to it, that’s fine. They both do, really. He presses his mouth closed tightly as he sheds his clothes because he wants to ramble and blather: Show me. Make me feel how much you love me. Make me feel what you feel. But he doesn’t, because so much of this is about trust. Trust that Kurt would never mean to hurt him. Trust that Kurt does want him, will continue to want him. Trust that Kurt gets it.

Kurt watches closely as Blaine lowers himself to the bed, starts to lean back. He works his jaw back and forth a little before speaking. “Can you- I mean. Over. Turn over.”

Blaine turns to his stomach, arms folded under his head, palms flat against the duvet, mimicking his position on the grass outside. Kurt moves over to him gracefully, crouching at his side. A reverent touch over his ear, his temple, then long fingers are wrapping around one wrist, then both, pulling Blaine’s arms so they’re splayed across the bed. Blaine grips the edge of the mattress as Kurt twists to brush fingertips over the dip of his back, then pushes his legs open and apart.

Blaine’s muscles tense at being so spread and vulnerable, followed by a flash of embarrassment knowing Kurt is just looking, he can feel the sharpness of Kurt’s gaze on his skin. But then Kurt swallows so thickly that Blaine can hear the audible gulp, then says, “Don’t move.” Confidently. Authoritative in that way Kurt can sound when he knows that what he’s doing or saying is right. Blaine relaxes into the softness of the bed at his words, feeling as safe and serene as he did in the sunbeam.

The scratch of Kurt’s clothes on his skin as he curls next to him is maddening at first, then thrilling. Contrasting how Blaine is laid bare, literally, figuratively, and Kurt can choose to be the same, or not, and he’s already hard, hips twitching incrementally in anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful, Blaine.” Kurt says, awe and worship lilting his voice, then Kurt’s lips find his, the angle off, mouths moving uncoordinated and off-center; Kurt’s teeth catch his upper lip and Blaine moans into the pulsing heat between them, then Kurt climbs over him, knees and hands indenting the mattress on either side. 

Kurt bends down and the press of his mouth burns across Blaine’s skin, the back of his neck, his shoulders, down his spine and the swell of his ass. He nuzzles between Blaine’s spread legs and opens his mouth to suck one ball, then the other in to his mouth as Blaine cries out and swears and holds tight to the mattress.

Kurt’s hands push roughly at his ass and Blaine is spread, spread, open- feels cut wide and gaping from sternum to navel, like the bedding beneath him is the only thing keeping him from cracking like the scorched earth. 

“Fuck, fuck. Kurt. Fuck.” And it’s not what he means to say at all, but Kurt’s tongue pushing and licking is rendering him incapable of saying what he wants to: Take me apart and put me back together so I can be whole again.

Blaine’s eyes fly open and he sucks in a breath as the warmth of Kurt’s body disappears suddenly.

“Turn over, honey.” 

And Blaine obeys, flipping just in time to see Kurt remove his pants and boxers, smooth and agile, shirttail fluttering over his waist, tie still knotted neatly at his neck. Kurt strokes his cock, hard and flushed, then climbs back onto the bed, crawling up until his knees are at Blaine’s chest, thighs pushed up against Blaine’s arms.

Kurt grabs his wrists once more with one hand and pins them up against the headboard. His other hand caresses across Blaine’s lips as he says, “Open, love.”

Blaine whimpers at the first taste of the salty smooth skin of the head, he presses his tongue into the slit, then flattens it as Kurt pushes in more, the hand cuffing his wrists flexing as he hits the back of Blaine’s throat and the muscles clench and hold. 

“You’re perfect,” Kurt grinds out, hips starting a gentle rhythm. “I love you.” Blaine looks up to see Kurt hunched over him, holding tight to the headboard with his other hand as he rocks his hips. “So much, Blaine.”

Blaine moans around him and he thrusts into the air, looking for friction but finding none and he groans in frustration as Kurt slides in and out, watches Kurt’s stomach twitch and contract, eyes dark and heavy lidded.

Kurt moves from the headboard to slide a hand into Blaine’s hair, mussed and matted, tugs up so the angle changes and his cock bumps high up against the yielding soft flesh of Blaine’s palate. Blaine’s thighs shake and he bucks, wild and wanton.

“Always.” Kurt grunts, throws his head back, cock pushing and pulling and slipping though Blaine’s stretched lips, “Always you Blaine, I’ll always want you. It’s you. It’s you.” 

Blaine strains against the restriction of his wrists, needing to do something about the desperate ache but Kurt holds tight, then shouts out a warning and yanks Blaine’s hair, and Blaine has to switch his focus to swallowing down stream after stream as Kurt shudders above him, then pulls away panting. 

Blaine thrashes and whines and begs, but Kurt strokes his face, his tender mouth, shushes him gently. “I’ve got you, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Then Kurt’s mouth sinks over his cock, feverish and molten and Blaine can’t breathe for the warmth on his body and the warmth in his chest as Kurt’s words tumble in his mind and his mouth works over and up and down. So much. Beautiful. Always. It’s you. Always you.

The heat bursts through him and out in a shattering of light through his pores, and he’s left raw and trembling and weakened in it’s wake. In the darkness.

But Kurt is there, strong and solid, and he wraps Blaine into him, the buttons on his shirt pressing into Blaine’s chest as he catches his breath and finds his bearings and remembers that he isn’t made of light and heat, but skin and bones, marrow and blood and sinew. His flesh pressed to Kurt’s flesh, and he tucks his face into Kurt’s neck and breathes in the living scent of him. 

“It’s you,” Blaine says and smiles. “You and me.”

Kurt sighs and hums softly and holds him tight, rocking them gently from side to side. The afternoon sun blazes on outside and the bang of a car door slamming echos below, then laughter and the screech of the screen door, and the world beckons them back.

“We should go,” Kurt says.

“Soon, “ Blaine replies.


	6. Chapter 6

He should be socializing, he knows. By some miracle everyone made it, gathered around in pairs and groups, splashing in the deep end, kicking their summer-bronzed bare legs in the shallow end. The steady pulse of a too-loud baseline thumps across the yard and drives the giddy dancing and jubilant laughter. 

He watches Kurt flit from group to person to group, bright eyed and wide grinned and so vibrant with youth and promise and joy. He is Blaine’s. But he is the world’s too. And soon enough the world will see what Blaine sees, and it won’t be able to stop staring, either.

Tina and Artie and Sam are just behind his plastic lawn chair, the thick strips digging into his bare back as they talk of next year, about holding onto well-earned titles, about the future. Blaine should care, he knows. And he will. It’s not time for that, not just yet.

But he can feel it there, all the same. The change shifting in the curling breeze; soon the days will be getting shorter, leaves closing and shrinking and browning at the serrated edges, the temperature dipping lower at night with a sigh. He can see it in Kurt.

They aren’t talking about it, a secret laid out in the open with school catalogues and internship applications and a map of New York City marked with X’s and circles and meandering lines of red, a post-it note in the corner with an ever-increasing list of potential neighborhoods. 

He knows they’re solid, in it completely, he trusts Kurt and their relationship and Kurt’s unwavering belief that nothing will change, that this won’t destroy them. Or what they have. But that doesn’t stop his hands from grasping Kurt’s waist as he passes, or pressing his face into the soft curve of his belly, or cinching his arms around his back and tightening until Kurt wheezes and laughs and pets at his head.

He pulls Kurt into his lap and settles their limbs, noses into the short hair at the nape of his neck and says, “I missed you.”

“I was gone for ten minutes, silly.” 

“Felt longer.”

“Mmmm,” Kurt shifts in his lap so his long legs are draped over Blaine’s, bare arm slung over his shoulders, and he kisses at Blaine’s temple. “Maybe you just looked so enticing that I had to force myself to stay away.”

Kurt shifts again, pressing closer, ducking to brush a kiss across his lips and spread his palm over Blaine’s chest to thumb across a nipple. He pulls away with a shy smile and scrunches his freckled nose, darting a look at their friends. 

No one notices, caught up in their own universes, their own shifting worlds, because if change really is in the air, it’s coiling soft and silent around them too. Not one of them can get away untouched. 

He sneaks a hand up Kurt’s leg, slipping fingers under the hem of his swimsuit to find the softer skin there. Kurt’s breath catches and Blaine squirms beneath him, too turned on for being in Santana’s back yard, but more turned on because of it. 

“Blaine…” Kurt warns, but he grinds down a little anyway and Blaine’s cock twitches and swells and his head falls to Kurt’s damp shoulder. “We can’t. Not here.”

Blaine puffs out a breath and moves to grip the hollow handles of the chair. “I should probably jump in the pool, then. Cool off,” he says with raised eyebrows.

But Kurt bites his lip enticingly, then looks around again before whispering, “I’ll meet you in the guest bathroom in five minutes.” 

Blaine fastens a towel around his waist after Kurt slinks away to fish a drink out of the cooler full of ice and cans, even though his suit is bone dry and swishes around his legs as he hurries to the house. The cool air inside makes the hair on his arms stand up and goosebumps break out over his skin, and when he snicks the door closed behind him he presses his palm to his cock, unsure of how he’s going to be able to wait the five minutes for Kurt.

For Kurt, who has spent the entire day mostly bare, all sinuous muscle and sun-drenched skin. Who is so beautiful Blaine swears it would break his heart if it didn’t make it so full, instead. Kurt’s hands, strong and sure. Kurt’s mouth, hot and sweet and wicked. 

Then Blaine’s hand slips under his waistband without him meaning it to, stroking beneath the material just slow enough to hold him off, to tease. He grips the countertop, drops his head and grunts, his hand tightening and skimming up and down the shaft; then he catches movement in the mirror over the sink, looking up to see Kurt slip into the bathroom behind him. He stills.

“Sorry, I couldn’t-”

“Can I see?” Kurt interrupts, still gripping the doorknob; voice high and whisper-soft, eyes wide.

Blaine licks his lips and stands up straighter, his hand curled around his cock, hard and hot. He inches his suit down with his other hand until it’s low on his pelvis, then hesitates. Kurt hasn’t taken his eyes off the tented front of Blaine’s suit, lips parted and fingertips twitching.

“I- I feel weird,” Blaine admits with a laugh. It’s silly, after all they’ve done. But this is something that has been for when he’s alone, a solo act by it’s very nature. He isn’t used to it being for anyone’s pleasure but his. He feels a little like he’s being shoved on stage and told to perform The Thong Song after being overheard singing it in the shower. It’s fun, but isn’t really when he’s at his best.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, Mr. That’s-Why-They-Invented-Masturbation.”

“I’m never going to live that down am I?” 

“No,” Kurt says simply, then moves in closer so Blaine can feel the heat of Kurt’s skin so close, but not touching. “I’ve thought about it so much, after you said that. What you would look like.” Kurt’s voice wavers and his breath tickles across his neck. “Let me see, Blaine.”

Blaine closes his eyes and inches his suit down, the elastic waistband digging into the curve of his ass and right below the juncture of leg and hip, just enough. He twists and strokes and imagines that he is alone. Alone and thinking of Kurt, Kurt who is handsome and strong and brave and his, but not his. Blaine’s hips stutter and he grips tighter because what if Kurt is slipping from his grasp? He moans his name.

“I’m here,” Kurt says, moving in so his chest is pressed to Blaine’s back, hips tilted away. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Blaine says immediately. “The way you sound- and, and the way you look.” 

Snapshots cross his mind then, Kurt luminous in the moonlight, the clear blue of his eyes fuzzy in Blaine’s newly restored vision, the blood-rich bashfulness on his cheeks, the determined set of his jaw, the possessive grip of his hands holding Blaine there, captive and vulnerable, both of them knowing that he could shatter Blaine apart if he wanted to. He would never want to. 

“You look so good, Blaine.” 

His hand starts to move faster, hips twitching, dampness spreading across the tip. He’s close but not close enough. “I need to feel you, Kurt. Need to touch you.”

And it’s that. The one thing that is impossible to stretch across distance. Sound and sight are easy. Even smell and taste. Not the same, but he can see Kurt behind a computer screen, flat and cold, but there. He can hear his voice and his sighs and his trilling laughter over a muffled phone reception. 

And if he tries he can find Kurt in the sweet-bitter taste of a nonfat mocha, mint chap-stick, lavender shampoo. The moisturizer with looping french words scrawled around the tub that refuse to come out right across Blaine’s tongue, and it makes Kurt smile that crinkly smile and correct him, every time. 

But touch. There is no satisfying replacement for silky-soft skin or the press of his lips or the grasp of his hands. The perfect ache of Kurt stretching and filling and fucking him. 

“I’m here,” Kurt says again, one hand slipping up Blaine’s chest to rest over his racing heart. “Right here.”

Blaine whines and throws his head back to see, flutters his eyes open and finds Kurt’s in the mirror. He watches himself, arm flexing and working, the rest of his muscles held tight and rigid. His eyes are low and dark and his mouth is open and panting. His cock red and shining and sliding through his own fist.

But then he can see Kurt too. Kurt’s hip cocked out to one side, Kurt’s arm snaking up Blaine’s body, Kurt’s head ducked down to watch. Kurt is there.

Blaine gives one last twist under the head and just before he comes he hears Kurt murmur, “Every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.”

Blaine slumps forward against the counter panting, watching hazily as Kurt shoves down his suit and gets himself off quickly and without finesse. Blaine turns and doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know his grin is lopsided and dopey. He snags out a wad of tissues and cleans himself and the marble countertop, then passes the box to Kurt where he’s slouched against the wall. 

“Okay that was a good idea, after all,” Blaine says, settling his suit back into place. 

“Of course it was. The mental images will certainly come in handy,” Kurt frowns down at his sticky palm, then runs the tissues over and through his fingers. “So to speak.”

“You’re going,” Blaine says. A statement, a truth.

“I am,” Kurt confirms.

He should probably be upset. He has been, will probably be again. But in this brief reprieve from the sun and the heat and the persistent march of time, he isn’t. Whatever the world asks of them and takes from them and gives to them. Whatever current of change will push them along like a tide. Wherever Blaine goes, Kurt is with him. And wherever Kurt goes, Blaine knows Kurt will carry him along, until Blaine can join him. Less tangible than a touch of fingertips, but just as real.

Someone pounds on the door and they jolt, shocked out of their mellow glow, faces burning; everyone will suspect. Blaine clasps Kurt’s hand in his, kisses his heated cheek as he twists the knob, and murmurs,

“Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.”


End file.
